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Ulalume
The skies they were ashen and sober; ﻿The leaves they were crisped and sere— ﻿The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October ﻿Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, ﻿In the misty mid region of Weir— It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, ﻿In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titantic, ﻿Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul— ﻿Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic ﻿As the scoriac rivers that roll— ﻿As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek ﻿In the ultimate climes of the pole— That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek ﻿In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, ﻿But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— ﻿Our memories were treacherous and sere— For we knew not the month was October, ﻿And we marked not the night of the year— ﻿(Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber— ﻿(Though once we had journeyed down here)— Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, ﻿Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent ﻿And star-dials pointed to morn— ﻿As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent ﻿And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent ﻿Arose with a duplicate horn— Astarte's bediamonded crescent ﻿Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said—"She is warmer than Dian: ﻿She rolls through an ether of sighs— ﻿She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on ﻿These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion ﻿To point us the path to the skies— ﻿To the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion, ﻿To shine on us with her bright eyes— Come up through the lair of the Lion, ﻿With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, ﻿Said—"Sadly this star I mistrust— ﻿Her pallor I strangely mistrust: — Oh, hasten!—oh, let us not linger! ﻿Oh, fly!—let us fly!—for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her ﻿Wings until they trailed in the dust— In agony sobbed, letting sink her ﻿Plumes till they trailed in the dust— ﻿Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied—"This is nothing but dreaming: ﻿Let us on by this tremulous light! ﻿Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming ﻿With Hope and in Beauty to-night:— ﻿See!—it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, ﻿And be sure it will lead us aright— We safely may trust to a gleaming ﻿That cannot but guide us aright, ﻿Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, ﻿And tempted her out of her gloom— ﻿And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, ﻿But were stopped by the door of a tomb— ﻿By the door of a legended tomb; And I said—"What is written, sweet sister, ﻿On the door of this legended tomb?" ﻿She replied—"Ulalume—Ulalume— ﻿'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober ﻿As the leaves that were crisped and sere— ﻿As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried—"It was surely October ﻿On this very night of last year ﻿That I journeyed—I journeyed down here— ﻿That I brought a dread burden down here— ﻿On this night of all nights in the year, ﻿Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— ﻿This misty mid region of Weir— Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, ﻿This ghoul-hannted woodland of Weir." Category:EAP Category:Poetry